Closet Confessions
by scotchietape19
Summary: Francis and Arthur fight, we all know that. But this time, Ludwig rages hardcore. They're thrown in to a closet where there is virtually no space to move - the doors of the meeting building are locked tight, no way out. They are forced to work together for their own benefit... or maybe, just maybe... they start caring for each other. Rated T for language, will raise for sexytimes!


Francis Bonnefoy. Perfect with the pick up lines, as smooth with his body as a baby's bottom, mister, "Would you like a glass of wine for those delicious lips?" Francis Bonnefoy. Mister, "Can you speak French? Non? Let me teach you with my body" Bonnefoy.

_More like Mister, "you get under my bloody skin you promiscuous little frog," Bonnefoy._

Arthur clicked the tip of his push pen as he gazed across the table at that ridiculous head of blonde hair. Francis had been in the middle of scribbling a note in red pen, his white teeth lightly biting bottom lip in concentration, his golden mane framing his face. As quickly as he had wrote what Arthur guessed was a stupid, pointless note, Francis' long fingers slid it across and over the table to the Canadian boy, Matthew. Arthur watched rather irritated as Matthew pricked a handsome eyebrow at the French nation across from him, their eyes locking in confusion for a moment before Matthew let them drop downwards to the neatly folded piece of paper that had stopped at his hands and unfolded it. Matthew went completely white upon reading the first sentence - almost as white as that tame polar bear of his. Arthur let a huff slide from his lips as his gaze shot to Francis once more, catching the sly smirk on his lips at Matthew's very justified reaction. A dirty note, no doubt.

Arthur shifted in his seat, his bottom nearly asleep from over two hours of meetings straight, and sighed. He supposed to himself that everyone had their own little ways of entertaining themselves during meetings, or what he liked to call _keeping their sanity_; this was Francis'. He didn't know why exactly, but it had always irritated him the way that Francis so freely flirted with anyone and everyone. He guessed it was because the two of them were both so different, so opposite.

_No, so much more than that, so __polar__opposite_.

Arthur was a gentlemen, Francis was a frog. Arthur shaved, Francis let it grow wild. Arthur bathed, Francis smelled. Not particularly bad, but raw, of the earth... natural.

_Yeah, I suppose bad might cover it, after all._

Francis flirted with anything with legs and Arthur never so much as batted an eye toward some of the most _'beautiful_' people; including Francis. That was another thing that bothered Arthur about Francis; the fact that he was so alluring. Not that he would ever tell anyone else, or fully admit it to himself, but he knew that deep down inside… Francis wasn't... ugly.

_There, I've said it._

And not really knowing why, it bothered Arthur that other people had had their turn with him and come back with very, _very_positive reviews. Arthur had not anything to add to the conversation, having not set a finger on the other…

_If one does not count the back yard brawls_.

Another thing; they constantly fought. Even being in the same room with that _Frenchass_ upset Arthur. Those stupid locks swaying back and forth as he walked, those ridiculous kitten heel boots that he wore in which he would lean over into his ear, never failing to send disgusting _tinglies_ down his spine, and the frog would whisper slowly and softly , _they're i__n high fashion, darling. _

Even the way he walked was stupid; nose slightly higher then everyone else' in the crowd - it enraged Arthur. The bloody git thought he owned the place, and to Arthur's dismay - if currency was of looks alone, Francis would be the king of the whole bloody realm.

Arthur shook his head with a scowl and a huff as he saw Francis nudge Antonio's arm, the Spaniard rewarding him a bright and friendly Spanish smile as warm as the sun, a nudge back. Maybe it was the boredom of Ludwig's voice echoing throughout the meeting room on the topic of the global economy that caused Arthur to suddenly zero in on every single move that Francis made, but he was completely fine with blaming it all on Ludwig - in fact he was fine with blaming it _anyone_if it made him look slightly alright with staring holes through the unaware Frenchmen across the table. His fingers tapped lightly on the wood of the desk as he checked the clock on the opposite wall - only ten minutes left of hell and he would be _out of__there_. The Briton looked to Matthew, whose face was now ghostly and crumpled in shame. Arthur was almost shocked to see Matthew throw the crushed note back across the table, bouncing off of the Frenchmen's cheek and landing in his lap. It must have been a pretty inappropriate letter considering that Matthew was a pretty laid back guy and took little offence to Francis' sexual nature - probably another reason Francis enjoyed to tease him so much. The Frenchie's smirk did not leave his lips, oh no, but only widened as his eyes moved from Matthew's disturbed violet colored eyes to the disjointed paper in his lap. His brow furrowed for a moment as he took the note back, re-reading it slowly to refresh his mind for amusement.

Arthur's leg bounced up and down impatiently as he checked the clock again - seven minutes. He thought of his virtually eroded Pride and Prejudice binding lying on the night table at home and sighed contently; no matter how many times he had read and re-read that amazing novel, and no matter how many times he quoted all of Jane's work, he never, _ever,_got sick of her writings. They were simply amazing pieces of work - to the British mind at least. Others could not seem to handle the complexity of her webs of thought, and how she wove them into structures and worlds, but Arthur loved her intellectualism and took pride in knowing she was born and bread right there in little Seventon Rectory, Hampshire. She was simply brilliant. Arthur could have gone on for days, running his mind over the woman's quotes and speeches, but he was abruptly ripped from his daydream when the note that had been in Francis' lap violently hit his face. He knew it was the same note that Francis had thrown at Matthew because of how... French... the red cursive writing looked on the snow white paper as it landed from his face onto the desk in front of him... not to mention the words _oral_ and _in your_ that he had been blessed to see sticking out in the jumbled wrap of paper. Arthur could have exploded. Arthur could have strangled Francis – oh yes, could have wrung that smile out to dry; could have clasped his hands over that diseased mouth and nose until he passed out. How _dare_ that frog throw such a repulsive piece of trash at his face - while dreaming of Austen, of all people!

"Now listen here, Francis," Arthur's voice bellowed throughout the bored room as he took the dirty note into his hands, silencing even Alfred's booming voice that had been competing with Ludwig's shushes, "I take enough of you during the day in silence, and I think that the rest agree," he shot his arm out and around him as if he were presenting some magic new contraption, making angry eye contact with everyone else at the table, save Hercules who was sleeping fast asleep as Sadiq drew a giant goatee on him with black ink. "That _you, sir, _are a sick excuse for a country, and that you should be locked away in a closet during meetings so that you do not upset the rest of us from now on! Some of us here, including myself, have more important things to do with out lives than sit around and throw porn around at each other, so if you do not mind," He finished practically spitting, each one of his words being especially annunciated, his thick eyebrows pulled down tightly into an arch, "Please keep your filth of a mind in the garbage until you're back on your little French streets where you can pick up all the smoking hussies you want to!"

A few people gasped in shock, a few whispered urgently; Matthew, who had leaned over to Alfred, whispered, "It wasn't that bad… I'm just… sensitive..." The American looked to the Canadian boy with wide eyes, "I know you are."

Francis sat there, his face as hard as hard could be as he absorbed what Arthur had just shouted across the meeting room at him. It was not surprising to Francis that Arthur had gotten angry at the table, in fact he had actually meant to provoke him because of how absolutely bored he was, (and who could deny how much if a blast it was to play around with the other's temper,) but this time Arthur's voice was dark and jagged... critical.

And with that alone, he may have closed his mouth and let it go… had it not been for Arthur quickly following the rage by picking up his empty coffee mug and chucking it at him across the hardwood of the office table. The mug landed skillfully in Francis' fingers before it hit his chest and he shot up out of his seat, leaning over the table so that they were nose to nose.

"Excuse me _sir,"_he puffed like a poisonous bullfrog and slammed his hand down on the table loudly, Hercules bumping along and sleeping. Out of the corner of their eyes they both saw Sadiq waving his hands in front of his face, pleadingly not to wake Hercules - apparently even after all that beard, he still had more to draw before he was done.

"Have you ever thought that it was _you_that people are sick of? You're so completely _boring!"_ he barked in his thick French accent. The sensation of it all found Arthur picturing Francis as a fluffy, vicious poodle.

Arthur did not say anything; he was too angry - much too angry. And the strange part was that he actually did not know _exactly why_ he was so angry in the first place. Even in his own mind after he had yelled the words, he mentally slapped his forehead - I mean come on, it was a god damn piece of paper. Either way, what was done was done and there was no going back now - besides, it was not uncommon lately for Arthur to pick a fight with Francis at least once during an evening meeting, and so this was just one of those times…

_Just one of those times…_

_Just… one of the times…_

Arthur grabbed hold of Francis' shirt from across the table and crumpled it tightly in his fingers; biting the insides of his mouth, his enemy slipped into a sly grin. He knew exactly what that stupid frog was thinking - Francis thought he had won just because he had gotten mad, but oh no, he was sadly mistaken. As Arthur's fist balled and he pulled it back with a sharp yank, he felt himself being pulled back and away from Francis by two pairs of arms locking with his own. "Hey!" he shouted angrily, "Unhand me!" but the pair fought the flaying of arms and legs until he had calmed down enough to see who it was - Ludwig and Sadiq had each arm in their own.

"What's the big idea?" he growled to both of them and was answered by Sadiq who whispered urgently in his ear, "I need you to be quiet - if Hercules wakes up now he'll kill me. I'm saving my own skin, lad. Quiet down." Arthur huffed and turned his attention to the Frenchmen who stood over the table with that same smirk as before. "Look at the way he's looking at me! Look at him!" he shouted, his wrist turning up and pointing toward Francis' never changing, snide smirk as best as it could with being restrained. "He's a bloody frog and we all know it!"

Francis' smile wavered. Arthur had always insisted on calling him a frog and for the most part he did not mind, but being called a frog for _who you were_got old after a while. "Well just look at yourself, _mon-cher-i!"_ he spat once again, "You're a stubborn Britain with the cooking skills of an infant and eyebrows that give me nightmares! What do you have against someone like me?"

Arthur was about to shout back when Ludwig's booming voice saved the day once again. "I've had it with you two fighting during meetings!" he violently pointed to the clock on the way above, "We _almost_made it through one whole meeting with no fights, and yet you two decided to have at it with less then _two minutes left_. Both of you come with me, _now."_ Ludwig screamed and pulled Arthur out of the large office by the ear lobe toward the door, motioning sharply for the Frenchmen to follow.

"Hey, that hurts!" Arthur howled, "And you're not dragging frog-legs by the ear, it's not fair!" he cried as he grabbed at the German's large hand.

"Quit it Arthur, you've had worse." Ludwig growled as Francis reluctantly trailed behind like a shadow. Ludwig was right, he had had worse. And most of that worse was because of that privileged Frenchmen behind him... if only Ludwig would slow down a tad, he might be able to grab hold of that _frog's_ear.

_Stupid ear. _

It was probably bitten and licked thousands of times in the past. Arthur's chest boiled once again as he stumbled along beside Ludwig. "Look what you've done, Francis!" Arthur yelped as he was shoved into a closet and fell against the wall.

"Moi?" Francis yelled with a hand on his chest in disbelief, Ludwig barely keeping himself from blowing a gasket as he slammed the closet door. "It's not only Francis, Arthur!" Ludwig scolded and turned to the Frenchmen, "But it isn't all Arthur's fault either." he eyed that little French body up and down. "You do like to tease him in more then one way."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Francis asked shocked, not exactly sure if he was supposed to be flattered or insulted, and to tell the truth, neither did Ludwig. Before the German could answer, the sound of Arthur's feet kicking the door of the closet brutally with the heels of his expensive tailor's shoes echoed the packed hallway only to upset the already angered German further.

"Look what a baby you are, Arthur!" Francis teased as he knocked on the door lightly, "Does the little baby want out?"

He loved taunting Arthur – it was priceless, but before he got to any of his good material, a shower of German accent flew across his face. "_Mein Gott!"_he cursed and threw his hands to the air as if begging God_, strike me now! Take me to see Gilbert and endless rivers of beer!_

"That's it, I've had it with your fighting." he began, taking Francis's two slim wrists with one burly hand, "I don't want to see either of you until tomorrow morning. You'll both sort your problems out by yourself tonight!" And with that said, the other free hand swung open the door faster then Arthur could crawl out and in tumbled Francis right on top of the scrambling British man.

The door slammed behind them and rattled like a leaf in the wind; they both cringed in unison as the dangerously low voice of Ludwig spit German and pushed past the crowd to ushered them out the door. "There's nothing to see here, go home!" he screamed to the crowd that had gathered around.

For a dozen long moments, both of their ears strained in the darkness of the closet to hear if Ludwig was gone. He was not - they could still hear his angry breathe and mumbling to his two best friends, Kiku and Feliciano. It was only when Arthur shifted his leg that he noticed how _small_the little closet they were trapped in was.

His knee hit the back wall and Francis' body slid onto his own awkwardly, both of them shivering for different yet… familiar reasons. "Get off of me you toad!" Arthur huffed and tried to push him off with his hands, "I'm probably contracting herpes!"

Francis scoffed and looked away into the darkness, "If anything on this planet were to give you herpes Arthur, I bet you all of Europe it would be from one those monsters that come out of your oven at dinner time."

_Oh, that was going too far. _

"At least my oven doesn't have sex ten times a day." he jabbed, a flash of red hot traveling across his eyes; he chuckled to himself bitterly and patted himself on the back for that one.

_You've still got it, old chap!_

Francis kneed the others back roughly and rolled over onto his side, their bodies pressing together tightly. "Move over you stupid _Briton,_ you're invading my personal space," he elbowed the other.

"Since when did you acquire personal space, Francis? I didn't know it existed in a Frenchmen's vocabulary." he pushed against the opposing wall to slide upward the best that he could.

"Very funny." Francis laughed hollowly.

The two of them bickered back and forth for some time, and the volume of it was heard even back in the meeting room where the three former allies were cleaning up stacks of paper. Disturbed, Kiku picked up the perverted French note, and he and Feliciano both cringed as Ludwig's turbulent expression turned for the worse.

_He is__really, acutally__fed up with their fighting, _Feliciano thought to himself, and Kiku and Feliciano were both silently, _very silently,_thankful that at least someone they knew was taking this major problem into their hands... Feliciano watched curiously as Ludwig rummaged through a large brown box that he had pulled out of the janitor's office. "What are you doing, Ludwig?" Feliciano asked with a hesitant smile on his olive Italian features.

Ludwig cracked his head around to face Feliciano, but his hands kept digging, "Deadbolt." he replied soullessly and wrapped his fingers around a large lock, stuffing the key to go with it into the hole and turning it so that the little rainbow shaped metal popped open.

"You're locking them in there?" Kiku asked louder then normal as surprise overtook him, "Are you sure this is legal?" Ludwig turned to look at the two for a moment, his eyes bricks - they explained everything. In Ludwig's opinion, bricks were the best way to explain any situation in one go; and he was right, neither of them asked another question.

Ludwig strode out of the office with a dark cloud looming over him and sighed gravely. In Ludwig's mind, this was for the best. It was the only way, _the last way_to get them to behave, even if it meant letting them kill each other in a broom closet. Besides, if they killed each other tonight, there would not be a problem left to solve - it was a win-win.

Ludwig's brown boots stopped swiftly at the door, and as soon as the German heard the two in the closet screeching in confusion, demanding he tell them what was going on, the deadbolt locked like an omen of death and there was silence. Arthur shifted his leg in between of Francis', his oblivious anger steaming through his ears. The Briton did not notice in the slightest as a soft sound grumbled in Francis' throat in response.

"I _demand_that you let us out of here, Ludwig. It is against the my God given rights to be locked away in a closet with a _frog,_of all people!" Arthur demanded, his index finger poking at his palm in a sort of, _I know what I'm talking about_fashion. Ludwig snorted, "And annoying me to the point of madness is against _my_ God given rights, but it doesn't look like you care much about that, now do you?"

Arthur went silent, biting his lip in the darkness before turning his head to Francis, as if expecting for help. The closet had horizontal slits high above them at the top of the door allowing the light from the hallway to fall in on the Frenchmen's face in fat lines, the effect making the closet look even more of a jail then it really was.

Francis' blue eyes sparkled in the light and he quickly looked away, crossing his arms. "What do you want me to do about it?" he grumbled, "Talking obviously makes it worse..." Arthur could agree on that one, but before he could argue with Ludwig, the German's voice boomed in commandment and the two winced once again.

"I'm going home. I will come by tomorrow when I've felt you two have had enough punishment... which won't be any time soon." The German stormed off and Feliciano and Kiku danced out of the way of him, crawling along behind him - they hated it when Ludwig got this way, and yet they admitted that yes, someone has to be the tough guy and they preferred it not to be themselves.

Francis let out a sigh and turned his head back to face Arthur. "It's squishy in here." Arthur thought that was a fairly particular thing to point out considering that it was so plainly obvious to anyone who had even the remotest of senses.

"Well I know that, I'm not blind." He took a moment to think about that - with such a lack of light in here he _could_have passed as legally blind. "Why do you say?" Arthur asked, slightly surprised that he even cared what the Frog thought - apparently, now he did.

"It's just that..." Francis felt his hands fumble around the carpeted floor and he took a gulp louder then intended and mumbled, "Your leg is ... Between mine..."

Arthur froze for a moment. Was Francis... whimpering, or something? He shook his head and shuffled over the best that he could. "Speak up, you blubbering piece of fur, I can't hear you. Oh, you'd better not be crying on me you big sissy girl."

Francis' face was hot and angry, the feeling of Arthur's leg rubbing against his groin area – it was infuriating. "I said, your skinny chicken leg is between my beautiful, desirable ones, and quite frankly it is disgusting me."

"Excuse me?" Arthur growled, "My leg is certainly not between your legs because, _my_ legs," he annunciated loudly and put his hand on his chest like he was Shakespeare, "are cramped in this corner. You're probably making some crazy story so that I'll touch you, you slimy bag of dicks."

Francis gasped loudly, "I am not making it up. I feel a leg between mine and it's poking my beautiful genitals!" he exclaimed. "Oh hush up, you pansy. It's probably someone's boot." Francis felt around for a moment; studded leather, a buckle… "Oh… you're right." He replied and buried his face in his hands; they were sweaty.

"Of course I'm right."Arthur ran a hand through his hair and as he pulled it out, his hand was slightly damp. "…Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?" Arthur asked, immediately regretting it. "I don't mean it like that, git!"

"I wasn't even thinking that, you tea drinking swallow!" Arthur's face went red and he clenched his hands. "What kind of insult is that? Swallows are beautiful birds!"

"But you're the ugly kind!" Francis nodded up and down, his eyes serious although he knew this was getting ridiculous. Arthur sighed and tugged his tie loose around his neck - it was like a bloody sauna in there. Turning to Francis' face in the half darkness, he muttered irritably, "You would think the bloody gits would have installed some kind of air conditioning vent in here, wouldn't you?"

Francis scoffed and rolled his eyes, "People don't usually spend a lot of their time locked in closets while meetings are being held..." and he could not help chuckle; he could tell that Arthur felt inept and nervous and it made him inwardly grin. "You're so stupid."

"What are you laughing at, frog?" Arthur asked red faced with a puff like an angry baby dragon; Arthur was defiantly mad. Francis arched an eyebrow and swished his hair behind his shoulder, "You, my dear." he sneered and reached through the darkness to ruffle the other's hair - he knew Arthur hated it.

"Shut it froggy, you know I can't speak rib-bit; and while your at it, get your bloody hands off of me before I break your wanking arms. You wouldn't want that, now would you? No more jacking in the washrooms during breaks." Arthur tested, fixing his hair roughly.

Francis scoffed again, "I could find other ways of _wanking_, Arthur - maybe you could even help me out with it if I was ever desperate enough." Francis cracked and eye open and smirked, an overwhelming urge to throw up as the thought slipped into his mind and through his nostrils, long nasally titter erupted quietly.

Arthur felt his body heat up with rage and he clenched his fists, "Why you dirty little pillock, like I would ever touch you; and since when were you _not_desperate?" he spat. Francis giggled and gagged, kicking the side of Arthur's calf with his foot, immediately receiving a kick right back to the knee. "Look Arthur," he started bitterly, "If you're so hot in here, take your jacket off."

"No!" Arthur yelped, pulling his jacket closer to his body. "Like I would _ever _risk stripping while so close to you; you would probably assault me!"

"Oh shut up, Arthur. You're so full of yourself, it makes me sick. You actually think I would attack someone I absolutely, fucking, hate?" he asked soullessly. Arthur cringed, but it felt good to say those kinds of things, kept things normal. Besides, Francis was the person he let loathed the most, and making each other feel shitty was just part of the job. "I suppose not, but still, no way. We need to find a way out of this joint before you're missing a limb."

"Onwards and outwards?" Francis asked and kicked the closet door lightly with his boots. "I suppose we could break it…" Arthur gulped. "The door is weak" said Francis.

Suddenly, a soft buzzing noise came from Francis' back pocket and he jumped. "My phone…" he muttered as he groped around his back pocket for the small sliding device. "Excuses, excuses… you're sick, Francis." Arthur muttered. "No really, it's my phone – someone is texting me…" Arthur's eyebrows shot downwards, "Sexting at a time like this? Please control yourself, Francis. Not everyday is sexy day."

Francis' slender fingers pulled out a red cell phone and he flipped it open. Arthur watched those creepy eyes run back and forth while reading, and then as quickly as the light was there, it was killed as Francis closed his phone. "It's Ludwig, he's told me that he has locked all possible entrances from the building, so even if we do escape, we're stuck here all night." Francis sighed heavily.

"Bloody barbeques!" Arthur huffed and kicked at the door; it _was_ loose. "Help me open this thing; I can't stand one more minute in your presence." Francis leveraged his bottom on the carpet and pulled his legs in tightly. "On my count…"

"Your count?" Arthur asked, upset. "What about my count? I can't speak that stupid language, anyway." Francis scoffed and rammed his boots into the door; it rattled on impact, but remained shut. "Stop being lazy and help me, Brit." Francis growled, and Arthur reluctantly leaned back against the wall as well and perfectly synchronized, they pulled their legs back and slammed their boots into the door as hard as they could; the door flew ajar and creaked on one hinge – they were free.


End file.
